


What Memory Lingers

by 1shinymess (magpie4shinies)



Category: Gentleman Bastard Sequence - Scott Lynch
Genre: Gen, Post Red Seas Under Red Skies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:46:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magpie4shinies/pseuds/1shinymess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following their adventures in Tal Verrar, Locke and Jean take a short break to rest. And squabble, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Memory Lingers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [devera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/devera/gifts).



The sun was a welcome warmth with the wind of the ocean, even on a day when it might on land have roused no few curses among those forced to work in it.

The small ship they'd purchased required much less maintenance than the Poison Orchid had, thankfully. With only the two of them (and the cat) for the doing, anything larger would have been exhausting. Between them, they had more than enough time to manage a reasonably straight course along the coast and Locke was now settling down on a pallet of sailcloth for a short rest at midday. 

Jean was already laying out on a large section of empty deck while absently monitoring the wind. Regal rested loftily, ignoring their simple concerns in a small hammock created by several ropes crossed for the sails.

Locke observed him with some amusement. "Stay smug while you can, little king: the way you've been eating, you'll be too fat to get there in a week anyway."

The cat didn't deign to flick so much as an ear in response and Jean glanced over, mouth quirking up. 

"Oh, boil your head," Locke said without heat, draping an arm over his eyes to block the sun and perhaps steal a few minutes’ sleep. 

Jean snorted. "Get right on that, master Lamora."

Locke waved his other hand in acknowledgment. "That's right. Know your place."

There was a pause before an iron bar wrapped around one of Locke’s ankles and tugged him over the deck. “Jean!”

“Yes, Locke?” One of Jean’s thickly corded arms landed heavily over Locke’s stomach and chest and Locke instinctively began to squirm even before Jean’s fingers began seeking out his sensitive spots. 

“No, don’t!” Locke said, now trying to escape Jean’s hold in earnest, and completely failing (as he would have even without guffaws being forced from him). “Ahhhh! Jean! Tannen! If you make me piss myself again, I shan’t forgive you!”

The attack continued unrelenting. Locke, much to his embarrassment, found no internal surprise when he couldn’t fend off Jean’s single-armed efforts with both hands and what leverage his legs could provide. Finally, breathless and with his ribs aching with the laughter, Locke finally shouted, “Uncle! Mercy! I give, I give!”

The fingers continued their artful torment for a moment longer, proving their point, before the efforts ceased and the arm restraining Locke became more of an embrace. 

Locke allowed it to continue, too weak from laughter and his attempts at freeing himself to argue. Considering what they’d been through -- what Jean had been through -- and what was likely coming up soon, there was little Locke would deny his friend in any regard. 

“You’re still a bastard,” Jean muttered into Locke’s hair. 

“I know.” Locke sighed. Jean’s arm tightened slightly and Locke was forced to shift up so he was half-laying on Jean to be even slightly comfortable. Jean’s arm immediately relaxed to a more reasonable hold, and Locke swallowed another sigh. He could feel his days shortening as the discomfort in his body grew. It was as though his blood had become a weapon against him, carrying a faint burn throughout his entire body that grew worse every day. 

They would have to make land soon: while it was feasible for them to handle the small vessel with only the two of them, when he was incapacitated by the pain he could tell was coming, it would be impossible. They were heading somewhere likely, at least. Their week’s worth of supplies could only be stretched so far by adding fish. He’d tell Jean when they were a day out. 

“You’re thinking again. Stop that,” Jean said, voice rumbling through Locke where he was half-sprawling over him.

Locke snorted. “Not all of us can just turn that -- ow!”

“What were you saying?” Jean asked mildly.

“Nothing, nothing,” Locke said quickly.

Jean’s fingers tensed. “Are you sure?”

“I am!” Locke replied. 

Jean relaxed. “Well, if you’re sure.” 

Locke held still for a moment before he uncurled from his instinctive foetal curl, then carefully rolled over and propped himself up on the elbow braced against the deck. 

Jean cocked a brow at him and Locke hesitated for a moment. There was an awful lot unsaid between them. He considered the things he’d concealed over the years, only Sabetha having guessed some of them, before his common sense kicked in. “When did you become such a bully, Tannen?”

Jean’s expression eased. “Not long after we met. What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

Locke snorted, letting himself down onto Jean’s chest. “I bet you say that to all the thieves you know.”

Jean’s arm tightened gently. “Only the best ones.”

Locke’s mouth twitched where he had his face tucked against his arm and a fold of Jean’s shirt. The deck rocked with the gentle waves beneath them as the mild breeze took them out further from their last disappointment. Just thinking of it made him sigh.

Jean hummed curiously and Locke drew his arm away, tucking it under his stomach now that he had an excuse that wouldn’t immediately get him a verbal ribbing. “Thirty thousand… _ugh_ , how depressing.” 

Jean huffed. “Try not to think about it. We still managed an incredible heist, didn’t we? That was your doing.”

Locke rolled his eyes. “What good is a successful plan with such a low payout? It’s shameful. I’ve brought shame to our house.”

“Our house?” Jean’s voice was hesitantly amused.

“Yeah,” Locke replied, eyes going slightly distant. It was rare to speak of them casually, but to claim them once more? He could risk summoning their shades by name. “You, me, Chains; Bug, Calo, Galdo…”

“And Sabetha,” Jean added.

Red hair filtered through sunlight in Locke’s memory. “And Sabetha,” he repeated with a sigh.

Jean was silent for a moment before he sat up, bringing Locke with him with little trouble. “We brought down a Tal, outsmarted the Priori, cheated the Sinspire...I think even Chains would’ve said ‘good enough’ after all of that.”

Locke snorted. “He was a bit of a stingy bastard, though, wasn’t he?”

“He wanted to keep you interested,” Jean said. “You hate anything easily obtained.”

Locke hesitated, hearing something beyond their playful argument in Jean’s voice. “I think… _hate_ is a strong word…”

Jean waved a hand. “You don’t appreciate it as much as you do what you have to steal. Consider your...situation with Sabetha.” 

Locke frowned. “Jean…”

Jean rolled his head from side to side, cracked his neck. “It’s fine, Locke. I may not be quite as good a thief as you, but I understand. There isn’t anything so fine as taking the finest thing a mark owns...whether or not the mark realizes it’s their most valuable possession or not.”

Locke blinked. “That’s apt.”

Jean gently pushed Locke off of him and stood, shaking his pants out where they’d twisted around his legs from their tussle, then held his hand out to Locke. “Come on, then. I reckon we’ve rested long enough.”

Locked took his hand automatically. “What? We barely sat down!”

Jean’s mouth firmed. “I do not want fish for supper three more days in a row, Locke. I won’t have it. I was thinking the river: we can acquire a little more gold and continue on. But we are making land and soon, if I have to kill us both to do it.”

Locke thought about protesting, but he recognized the stubborn tilt to Jean’s jaw. “Whatever you say, Jean.”

Jean grinned. “That’s right. Know your place.”

Locke elbowed him in the side and pretended he hadn’t let it happen.


End file.
